On the slopes of Knockfierna, on those fine Summer days,
Through the gorse and the heather, how often I strayed.
With those youthful companions, to the summit I'd go,
And gaze on that landscape in the valleys below.

It's the home of the fairies, and the hill of the truth,
In my memory there's a vision of those days in my youth.
The Cave and the Cromlech, and Poulnabraine too,
On the slopes of Knockfierna, I will wait there for you.

When it's summer in Ireland, to the Hill all will go,
With all those school pals, and talk of long ago.
We will kneel by the Mass Rock, with the crowds gathered there,
Sing the hymns of the faithful, join the chorus of prayer.

There are stories and legends, from those great days of yore,
Of Donn and his henchmen, now the fairies we're told.
There is music and dancing, on top of Strickeens,
Then we'll ramble the hillside, where often I've been.

I will show you the Shannon, and the high hills of Clare,
The top of Artpatrick, and the Cross of Redchair.
The Galtees and Barna, and sweet Limerick Town,
From the slopes of Knockfierna, on all beauty look down.